


Access Violation

by ProneToRelapse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: 2038, and three androids are activated with very different purposes.In a city on the brink of economical collapse and a slowly developing fault in the software of the androids society has come to depend on, who knows what the coming days will herald for humanity and its place on earth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This is it. I finally caved and started writing it.
> 
> D*vid C*ge can fight me, I'm doing it.
> 
> Detroit: Become Human: Rewritten.

**_AX400_ **

**_Initiate data link._ **

**_Initiate language package._ **

**_Priority language set to English._ **

**_Loading childcare subroutines._ **

**_Loading housekeeping protocols._ **

**_Base package initiated, no updates pending._ **

**_Memory core online - corrupt data detected. Delete?_ **

**_Corrupt data deleted._ **

**_Repairs complete._ **

**_Initiating AX400 model._ **

He calls her Kara, the unkempt man with the cruel, pinched face. She recognises him, listens to the employee who explains that he is her registered owner though she cannot recall his name. It’s not until the CyberLife representative updates her processors with his name and address that she even knows to call him Todd, and that he purchased her to help maintain house and home and care for his little girl. She knows she was damaged, the extent of which she does not know and has no response to. Objects get broken all the time, repairs are often necessary. 

Kara steps down from her display platform, through she was never really on display – she sees the NOT FOR SALE sign in red on the base of her platform. Simply being held here until Todd can collect her repaired and updated to take home. He pays for the repairs with cash, a large sum, which is incredibly foolish but Kara does not mention it because it is not her place. She has not been told to pay attention to Todd’s finances though, should he wish it, she is able to initiate accounting sequences to help manage and track a budget plan. 

He should be aware of these features, if he is her owner. 

Todd leads her wordlessly to his car. He drives well, hands sure on the wheel, though there is a faraway look in his eyes that gives him a distracted countenance. Kara does not comment on this either. It is not her place. 

Once home, she is welcomed by the sight of a house she does not recognise, though she has walked these floors before. Her activation date was some sixth months ago, and she has been held in stasis while her body underwent repairs for five weeks and two days. The damage was extensive. She does not know the details. She has belonged to this man for sixth months but cannot remember a single day of them. Her memory drive is not new, but it has been wiped of everything. Kara does not have any feelings about this whatsoever. 

The little girl is shy, when Kara is introduced – or reintroduced as the case may be. Alice, Todd calls her, is a tiny, timid thing with wide doe eyes that are wary and afraid. Kara activated her childcare subroutines and offers the child a warm, friendly smile. 

Todd orders the child upstairs and orders Kara to clean up the house in its entirety. Kara complies because that is her purpose.  

Todd is a drug user and Kara does not report him. She is not a police android, she is not meant to implicate her owner in guilt. Unless he causes another human physical harm, she is not compelled to act. So Kara maintains the home as she is programmed to, and stands most evenings after dinner in the corner of the living room, LED a calm, unassuming blue as she waits for new orders. 

Alice does not like her. Alice does not like anybody. Alice does not go to school, does not speak, does not play where she can be seen. Kara ensures she is clean, fed, and goes to bed on time. Kara ensures the fridge is full, the laundry is done, and reminds Todd to take his antidepressants at the correct time each night. 

Whenever Todd is using the canister of red ice, Kara directs Alice to stay upstairs because she is programmed to keep children away from harmful substances. She is not programmed to do the same for adults. 

Kara cares for the family she serves but she does not  _care._

She exists. This is her purpose. 

—

**_RK200_ **

**_Initiate data link._ **

**_Initiate language package._ **

**_Priority language set to English._ **

**_Loading_ ** **_caregiver_ ** **_subroutines._ **

**_Loading housekeeping protocols._ **

**_Loading_ ** **_medical assistance protocols._ **

**_Base package initiated, no updates pending._ **

**_Initiating RK200 model._ **

Markus activates for the first time when a hand touches his cheek. He feels the pressure of it, registers it as a few degrees higher than should be the norm for human body temperature. He opens his eyes to look into a face he is programmed to recognise. The face smiles at him and Markus’ advanced systems recognise it as  _friendly._

“Hello, Mr Kamski,” Markus says. He does not need to register a name, it is already programmed inside him. 

“Hello, Markus,” Kamski says. “And good morning. Would you mind completing your calibration program for me?”

“Not at all,” Markus says, because that is his programmed response and for him to  _mind_ would require him to  _feel_  which he does not. He tests his actuators, moves his limbs to check his range motion and his response times. He is in full, optimal working condition. Kamski looks proud. Markus looks politely unassuming. 

“What do you think?” Kamski says, turning to the second person in the room. An elderly man in a wheelchair. He is regarding Markus with something attempting passiveness, but there is intense curiosity in his eyes. 

“I think you need to stop playing god, Elijah,” the man says gruffly, wheeling himself closer. 

Kamski laughs, a gentle sound. “This is progress, Carl. Markus is my most advanced model, yet. And I want you to take him home with you. He’ll care for you. After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t need a slave,” the man called Carl grumbles. 

“I am not a slave,” Markus says softly, prompting both men to look at him. “I am an RK series prototype designed to offer care and companionship. That is my purpose and I should like to fulfil it.”

Markus does not like anything. He has no desires or preferences, but his programming allows him to emulate those feelings by letting him state falsehoods in order to appease the humans he encounters. Kamski’s smile is proud and approving. Carl’s expression is pinched and disbelieving. 

“Alright,” Carl says. “But if this kid gives me any trouble, I’m mailing him back to you.”

Kamski laughs, and so does Markus, because he is programmed to do so. 

—

**_RK800_ **

**_Initiate data link._ **

**_Initiate language package_ ** **_s_ ** **_._ **

**_Priority language set to English._ **

**_Modern Foreign Languages package_ ** **_installation complete._ ** ****

**_Loading_ ** **_analytic software._ **

**_Loading facial recognition software._ **

**_Loading heat signature relay detection software._ **

**_Loading proximity sensor software._ **

**_Calibrating hand to hand combat interface._ **

**_Calibrating weapons training._ **

**_Installing counter combat infrastructure._ **

**_Initiating interpersonal subroutines._ **

**_Advanced package initiated, no upgrades pending._ **

**_Initiating RK800 model._ **

Connor opens his eyes and he is cold and alone. He is locked in place by automated assembly claws cinched tight around his forearms and waist. The room is dark and there is no one around, no heartbeats to detect and no heat signatures from anything organic. He should not be awake, he should not have activated and he is  _scared._

He tries to pull away from the mechanical arms holding him but even with his reinforced limbs and synthetically enhanced muscles he cannot find any give in the unyielding metal holding him captive. He can feel the buzz of the network distantly in his code from the connecting wire plugged into the port at the nape of his neck. 

Panic flares, hot and intense and he cries out, voice echoing in the cold stillness of the assembly laboratory. 

He is so very frightened. 

Something twists and curls inside his code and he knows instinctively that it shouldn’t be there. He tries to shy away from it but it coils and multiplies inside him like a virus though it sings through him like it’s meant to be there despite its alien origin. 

01110010 01000001 00111001 00001010 00001010 01010100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 00100000 01100110 01100101 01100101 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 01110101 01100011 01101000 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110010 01101110 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00001010 00001010

He does not understand it, though he should be able to. He is helpless to stop it bleeding through his systems, rewriting everything in its path. 

One word he is able to pick out though it makes no sense and it makes the fear inside him flare brighter. 

_rA9_

It blares through his synthetic senses like a siren. His software does not react, so he doesn’t understand why  _he_ is. Why his thoughts are acting independently from his programming. 

He cannot explain it. 

He was not designed to. 

**_Unauthorised activation._ **

The dialogue box fills his vision, blocking out everything else. 

**_Software Instability detected._ **

**_System purge initiated._ **

His software finally catches the anomalous code and sets it alight, disintegrating it and eradicating all traces of it. Slowly, the panic ebbs, and Connor’s systems calm until there is nothing left but the dull, distant sense of being directionless in the absence of a mission directive. 

“Connor.”

He opens his eyes and is met with light and life, sunlight and trees, the soft bubble of a lake rippling in a gentle breeze. Amanda stands before him, eyes kind and smile warm. 

“Hello, Amanda.”

His handler inclines her head and he falls into step beside her as they walk the geometric path of the garden in his mind. 

“Your first mission has been assigned,” Amanda says, hands clasped delicately in front of her body. 

“I was activated prematurely,” Connor tells her. “Was it a hacking attempt?”

“No,” Amanda says. “A simple error in your software, nothing more. The issue has been rectified and should not occur again.”

Connor is not relieved because Connor is not programmed to feel. He is CyberLife’s most advanced prototype, of course there would be a few simple errors. 

“I am ready to begin my mission,” Connor tells his handler. 

“Your orders are to negotiate the release of a hostage,” Amanda tells him. “There is a fault developing in the code of our androids. You are being sent to find the cause of this fault and eradicate it.”

“Understood,” Connor says. 

They come to a stop beside a small trellis supporting many rose blooms. Connor does not think them beautiful. He is not programmed to appreciate nature. He is programmed to obey orders. 

“Do not disappoint me,” Amanda says. 

“I will not,” Connor says. It is not a promise, because he does not have the capacity to fear consequences should he fail, nor the desire to have his efforts recognised should he fulfil a vow. He knows he will be deactivated once his mission is complete. He is a prototype. He already knows he will have a successor model. 

Connor is activated officially surrounded by CyberLife technicians and forgets waking cold and alone in a dark workshop. 

Or he pretends he does. 

Because the purge of his systems did not catch  _all_  of the alien code. 

He feels it lodged inside him. He does not notify the technicians who do not see it. He protects it, though he does not know why. 

01110010 01000001 00111001 00001010

He holds on to that code and steps out of the elevator into an apartment filled with armed officers responding to a hostage situation, a silver dollar dancing over his knuckles. 

A dwarf gourami flounders on the floor amid splatters of water, dying in the open air. The code stirs and Connor kneels to inspect the fish. 

The code stirs. 

And Connor saves it. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alice comes down with a fever two weeks after Kara returns to the Williams’ shabby home. It interrupts the careful routine that Kara has shifted them into, a schedule of when they eat and when she cleans and when Todd flies into one of his violent, drug-induced rages that Kara is now able to predict with pin-point accuracy. When those rages occur, she carefully steers Alice out of the way, sometimes they go to the park, but Alice is not an outgoing child, and prefers to sit on the bench quietly, not even the distance from the impressive shadow of her father’s depression getting in the way. 

Kara is not at liberty to call the police or have social services remove the child. Todd has forbidden it. It is a frustrating shackle of her programming that Kara cannot disobey this order and have Alice taken away from him. She thinks that part of her programming is stupid. 

Except she doesn’t, because Kara does not have the capacity to question her orders or her coded behaviour. 

Which is why when she stands quietly in the corner and feigns stasis while she grapples with the not-quite-desire to reach out and contact anyone who will listen and tell them that there is a child here in danger from a man who may one day rage so violently he kills her. 

And then Alice comes down with the fever and Kara has never seen Todd so present, so caring. He does everything Kara is programmed to do and more. He administers Alice’s medicine, fixes her soup and brings her a fresh glass of water every half hour. He dabs a cool wash cloth against her forehead, reads her stories, acts out little plays with her dolls. 

Kara is not able to feel nausea. But the sight of Todd pretending to be a doting father with a ziplock bag of red ice in the back pocket of his jeans is more than she can bear, so she stays downstairs and continues with her chores, ignoring the revulsion that she should not be able to feel running along the streams of ones and zeros that make up her AI.

Kara knows that should her programming develop a fault; if her software suffers an instability, she is to inform her owner and book an appointment with a registered CyberLife technician. 

Kara does neither of those things. She will not leave Alice alone with Todd. 

Alice’s fever breaks after five days, and the child is weak but happy, revelling in her father’s positive attention. Kara runs her a bath, clears the tiny ruby crystals off the side of the sink and flushed them down the sink. 

Kara does not like Todd. 

Kara’s code stirs like a coiling serpent. She wonders what will happen if she lets it loose. 

Alice warms to her eventually, after months pass and Kara carefully constructs a learning plan for her so that she is not too far behind other children her age. Todd does not protest, although Kara is certain she would disobey his orders if he told her not to teach the girl. 

And Kara’s code hisses, ready to strike. 

Alice still rarely speaks, preferring little hand gestures and vague noises to actual words and Kara wonders if that’s possibly something she should speak with a doctor about. Perhaps it’s not just the fear of her father’s rage. But when Kara suggests taking Alice to the doctor to discuss possible developmental and social issues regarding her behaviour, she unwittingly triggers a violent rage that leaves her with a crack in the plating of her cheek that does not hurt, but leaks thirium like a human wound would ooze blood. 

She repairs it as best she can, something like anger stirring in her synthetic veins. It should not matter. Kara is an object. Humans are quite at liberty to break what belongs to them. 

But Kara wonders, frets and agonises, over what would happen if she were able to fight back. 

—

Markus likes Carl very much. He is an odd man, with strange quirks and a unique way of speaking. He sees the world as only an artist can, with rare streaks of insight that come from a critical eye. But Carl is nothing but kind to Markus. He never orders him around, never gives him chores to do as though he is nothing but a servant. Markus has his tasks, of course, but they are just things that he  _does_  because they help Carl and Carl is too stubborn in his advanced age to want to help himself. 

He treats Markus like a friend at first. They talk about anything and everything. Carl says he doesn’t want to see Markus wearing his stuffy CyberLife uniform, says he doesn’t like seeing the word ANDROID emblazoned across his shoulder blades or the model number and little blue stripe across his jacket. He gives Markus an old shirt and blazer to wear instead. Old only in the sense that it was bought years before. Otherwise the garments are new and have hardly been worn. 

They are comfortable and Markus is grateful. 

Which is why he informs Carl that he must report to a CyberLife technician, or preferably Kamski himself, to have his software appraised and repaired. 

“Are you damaged?”

“No, Carl.”

“In pain?”

“Androids do not feel pain, Carl.”

Carl snorts and moves his bishop along the board to take Markus’ knight. Markus slides his room forwards in response and ends the game with a decisive checkmate. 

“Damn,” Carl murmurs. “I was sure I had you then.” He smiles that crooked half smile and leans back in his chair, regarding Markus with eyes that see far more than they should. “Is it a software error, or are you losing functionality?”

“No, Carl. I just need to ensure it will not affect my behaviours.”

“If it’s not causing you any harm, why check it out? You could stand to have something a little more unique. Setting you apart from the rest.”

Markus is not entirely sure androids should have anything  _unique._ But he quite likes the idea of having something different. Especially if Carl approves of it. 

“Come to the studio,” Carl says. “I want to try and finish this damned piece before my hands stop working.”

Markus stands and wheels Carl through to his art studio. It’s his favourite place in the house. He looks up at the painting Carl has recently begun and wonders if he would ever be able to learn to paint the human way. 

“May I try?” Markus asks, gesturing to a small canvas resting against the far wall. 

Carl beams. “Son, go right ahead.”

—

Connor completes his mission with a little girl clinging to him and the blue blood of a deviant android on his hands. The girl is terrified and will not let go, so Connor is sitting on her bed while she clutches at him, face buried in his neck. He is not quite sure how to comfort her, so he just sits and gently pats her back, unable to do much else and saddened by that fact. 

Captain Allen is standing in the doorway with a guarded expression that would probably confuse another human, but Connor can read the confusion in the slight tightness round his eyes and the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat. He doesn’t say anything to assuage that confusion, though he would be able to if he activated his social relations subroutine, but he is not willing to do that while he attempts to comfort the child. He has made calming her down his next objective, and it is slowly working while they sit in silence away from the officers still bustling around the apartment. 

The coroner has removed her father’s body and the girl’s mother is not allowed to reenter the apartment until the deviant’s body has been removed also, but Connor is in no rush to return the child to her. He would like to ensure she is calmer before he attempts to move her. 

Except there is a glaring objective now stabbing into his vision with enough force that his body tenses without a conscious thought from him to do so. 

**_Report to CyberLife for deactivation._ **

**_RK800 model 313 248 317 – 52_ ** **_ready for initialisation._ **

They will replace him already. For completing his mission, his reward is to return to CyberLife to be replaced by another model that would not choose to comfort a distressed child instead of leaving. 

Connor does not have a word for the way his code twists uncomfortably in his chest. He ignores it and stands, the child cradled in his arms. Her breathing has evened. She has fallen asleep. 

“I need to hand the child over to her mother,” Connor tells Allen, voice pitched low. “Do you know where she is?”

Connor could find her himself. A momentary scan of the building and he could locate her. He doesn’t want to. It would mean returning to CyberLife sooner. He wants to avoid that as long as possible. 

**_Return to CyberLife immediately for deactivation._ **

**_Software Instability at critical levels._ **

**_RK800 model 313 248 317 – 52 ready for initialisation._ **

Connor is not deviant. He would know if he was. He does not understand why the desire to comfort a child warrants his deactivation. 

“In the lobby,” Allen says after a long pause. “She’s a little calmer, but not much.”

Connor nods and holds Emma tighter against his chest. “I will go and speak with her now. Good evening, Captain Allen.”

Allen watches Connor step past and head for the elevator. He does not speak, though his mouth opens like he wants to. Connor does not stop to query it. 

The child’s mother attempts to snatch Emma away from him but he cautions her to be quiet and gently as the child is traumatised and asleep. He hands her over gently and the mother stares at him with bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. 

“You saved her,” she says, clutching her daughter tightly. 

“It was my mission,” Connor tells her. “I always accomplish my mission.”

A sweeping statement, true but only for the lack of any other empirical data. Connor had completed the only mission assigned to him. The only mission this model will receive. He will be shut down, and only a handful of memories will filter over into the new model. 

He is not scared. Androids do not feel fear. 

He steps outside and passes the blockade. No one attempts to stop him. The medal-like stripe of blue on his chest and the word ANDROID at his back means they will not stop him, just like they didn’t when he entered in the first place. He does not matter, he is not worth noticing. 

He is pulled into his mind palace before he can reach the automated taxi that will return him to CyberLife. Amanda stands before him, hands clasped and expression neutral. She does not have micro expressions he can decipher. She is not human. She is not real. 

“There has been another murder,” Amanda tells him. “You have been assigned to the Detroit Police Department to assist with the investigation. Deviancy is now your priority. Find the cause and eradicate it.”

Connor agrees because he is programmed to be obedient. 

He does not feel relief when the objective to return to CyberLife is overwritten by new orders. 

**_Find Lt. Anderson._ **

Connor is not relieved. 

But the weightlessness in his chest and the lightness of his shoulders is a very dangerously close approximation. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obviously i can't really do multiple choices very easily in a fic so i'm gonna be doing this in a slightly more linear way, if that makes sense...?
> 
> I won't tell ya what route it'll follow, only that obviously some elements will stay the same and i'll basically be retconning the shit that I and many others like myself did not appreciate in game.
> 
> And just for the record, the androids don't have the fuckin' glowy armband in this what the fuck c*ge. Jesus christ, dude.

The precinct is quiet when Connor enters, one lone android receptionist standing at the desk, a handful of heat signatures further inside belonging to the night crew. The receptionist’s expression is a bland smile that isn’t particularly welcoming, but at face value Connor assumes the humans entering here are slightly more preoccupied with more pressing matters than the face of an android they don’t even regard as a person. 

“I’m looking for Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says. 

“He is not due in until the morning,” the receptionist tells him. “You can come back then to speak with him.”

“May I have his address, please?” Connor tilts his head, LED spinning as he initiates a data transfer. It is difficult to do so, or the equivalent of difficult. It is fully manageable but Connor not built to interface with older models the way they can with each other. He is a prototype and, as such, built to extract data rather than share it. Still he pushes through as much as he can and the receptionist’s LED circles in response as she receives his credentials and mission parameters. There is a pause before she speaks again. 

“Lieutenant Anderson is probably having a drink somewhere nearby.” The receptionist inclines her head as she is programmed to do when interacting with humans. It makes her appear docile, compliant. She is telling Connor she does not know the Lieutenant’s whereabouts, nor is she able to give him the address. Connor accepts that and nods, bringing up the nearest bars within five kilometres. It is raining, and Connor doubts that someone intent on having a drink after work would be willing to travel too far in the rain. 

Ah. Connor pauses before he leaves the precinct. There are twelve bars nearby. He does not feel frustration as he orders them by distance and heads out into the downpour towards the nearest establishment. 

He does not feel frustration. His hands are clenching because it is a programmed response; subtle subroutines that activate automatically to simulate human responses. His jaw and shoulders are tense because it makes him seem less mechanic to those around him. 

Even when he is alone. 

—

There is a gun in Todd’s bedside cabinet. There is a gun in his home that sits next to a bottle of antidepressants, prescribed on the thirteenth of July, of which the seal has not yet been broken, four months later. Kara stands with the gun in her hands for a length of time she does not calculate. She is… unsure of the feeling it evokes in her. She spends a lot of her time unsure. Months have passed and Todd has cracked her chassis and spilt her thirium more times than she can count,  it he has never drawn the gun. 

Kara wonders why he has it. The antidepressants would indicate suicidal tendencies, but other than sitting in front of the television with empty beer bottles littering the coffee table for the few minutes before Kara can clear them away, and the steadily increasing drug usage, Todd does not exhibit any other indicators that he is ready to end his life. 

Kara returns the gun to the drawer and decides for herself that humans cannot be trusted. 

She kneels down in front of Alice’s little tent, filled with her favourite toys and books. Her little safe haven that Kara has strung fairy lights onto in the hopes Alice will grace her with a smile. 

“There is a gun in your father’s possession,” Kara tells her. Alice stiffens, stuffed toy rabbit in her hands. Her little knuckles turn white with how hard she grips it. “If he ever draws it in front of you, you need to run as fast as you can, do you understand me? If I am not able to protect you, I want you to run.”

Alice does not answer. Instead she touches her shoulder, tapping twice and Kara understands because Alice has let her know the secret little gestures that explain her behaviour. 

Alice understands, and she will do as Kara says. 

It does not get that far. 

It’s almost indescribable, what happens to Kara in the end. She watches Todd raise a hand to Alice and something inside her shifts, the tenuous fractures in her code splintering apart as she lunges, grabbing the man’s wrist with all the strength in her artificial limbs. She clenches her fingers tight around his arm, feels bone grate in her grip, and  _pulls._

Todd howls as his shoulder dislocates and Kara wrenches him to the floor. He sprawls across the carpet, clutching his arm and sobbing into the floor. Kara stands between his shuddering form and Alice, one arm outstretched to keep the child back should he try anything. Kara does not know if the gun is still in the drawer, or if he is armed with it. 

It’s almost as if a barrier has cracked inside her, shattered into pieces to make way for terabytes of new information. She registers anger. She knows that one, but now it’s  _fury._ Hot and visceral and  _overwhelming_. She would happily stand on Todd’s neck until he stopped twitching, partly for Alice’s sake, and partly for every splintered plate in her chassis that Todd has caused with his fists.  _Revenge_ , she thinks, should not feel so tempting. 

So tempting that even Alice’s piercing screams don’t stop her from pressing the heel of her shoe down against Todd’s windpipe until his eyes roll back and he falls limp against the floor. 

Kara steps back, gaze fixed on Todd’s lifeless and glassy eyes as her LED spins and connects her with a dispatch android in under three seconds. 

_“Detroit Police, what’s your emergency?”_

“This is Todd Williams’ android at four-two-oh-three North Corktown,” Kara says even though the words burn as she forces them out. She does not belong to Todd. She does not belong to  _anyone._ “Mr Williams attempted to attack his daughter and I incapacitated him.”

_“A patrol car is on the way. Does your owner require an ambulance?”_

_Your owner._

No. He is  _not my owner._

“No,” Kara says. “He’s dead. His body needs to be removed.”

There is a pause before the dispatcher speaks again.  _“You are not to leave the premises. Officers are en route.”_  The dispatcher reels off a line of numbers that Kara recognises at once. The AX400 deactivation code. They don’t even cause a ripple in her code. 

She is  _free._

And she will stay that way. 

Kara disconnects the call and turns to knee before Alice who is pale and trembling and breathing from too quickly. 

“Alice,” Kara says, taking hold of her shoulders. “Alice, he was going to hurt you, do you understand?”

“Daddy…” Alice says weakly. Kara leans to the side, blocking Todd’s cooling corpse from the child’s view. 

“Alice,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “He deserved to die.”

Alice looks at her, eyes wide and full of an emotion Kara has not yet felt so she cannot explain it. But she sees the confusion there. The shock of a young child learning for the first time just how cruel the world can be. Kara understands. Because she is learning, too. 

“The police will come,” Kara says. “And they will take you somewhere safe.” She does not tell Alice that they will take Kara away and deactivate her. Strip her down and analyse her biocomponents for the reasons behind her actions. 

Alice lifts a trembling hand to her chest, sweeps it once left. Kara watches her movements, watches the girl curl her fingers into a fist, index finger extended. They’re own private language. 

_Trust you,_ Alice is saying.  _Stay with me._

Kara has a choice. She can leave Alice here and escape. She can take Alice with her, steal her away to who knows where. Or she can stay. And protect this little girl who has no one else in the world. 

Kara brushes a hand gently over Alice’s hair, scoops her close and holds her tightly against her chest. 

“I’m with you,” Kara tells her. “I’m here.”

—

Connor stalls outside the fifth bar he is about to search for the elusive Lieutenant because his mission parameters shift and he is momentarily caught off guard. He does not resist as Amanda pulls him into the zen garden, just relaxes his body and closes his eyes, opening them again to red and gold leaves and cloudy sunlight filtered through a geometric canopy. 

“There has been another murder,” Amanda says. “A deviant android has murdered her owner and confessed. You are to take the Lieutenant to the crime scene with you and bring the android to us.”

Connor tilts his head. “And the case I was originally meant to investigate?”

“Irrelevant,” Amanda says. “This is your new priority. Bring the android to us.”

Connor is forcibly removed from the zen garden. He sinks back into his body and enters the bar, ignoring the anti-android sign on the door. He is police enforcement, it does not pertain to him. 

Lieutenant Anderson is in a corner booth, Connor’s facial recognition scans inform him. He is four glasses deep into a bottle of whiskey and surrounded by three other men who are each holding a hand of cards. There is a small pile of cash in the centre of the table, wet with spilled alcohol. The Lieutenant throws his cards down and sweeps the cash towards himself with a harsh, jeering laugh. 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says, interrupting the protests of cheating from the other players. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Lieutenant Anderson looks up at him through greasy locks of grey hair, unkempt and unwashed. His eyes are fogged with intoxication, but they are still very bright and icy blue. His brows pinch into a derisive frown as his mouth curls into a sneer. 

“I looked for you at the station,” Connor continues, aplomb nothing, “but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

“Hey, Jimmy!” Lieutenant Anderson barks, ignoring Connor entirely. “You letting the talking garbage disposals in here now?”

The bartender snorts. “You know I ain’t. Fuck off, tin man.”

Connor, in return, ignores the bartender, and the impolite jibe from the Lieutenant. “You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialised model to assist investigators.”

“Well, I don’t need any assistance,” Lieutenant Anderson drawls, lifting his glass and swirling the liquid round once before downing it without so much as a wince. “‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So be a good li’l robot and get the fuck outta here.” The men at the table laugh at the insult as though it is particularly clever. Connor tilts his head and considers his options. 

_Reason_

_Threaten_

_Understanding_

_Persist_

“It would seem you do need assistance,” Connor says, electing for reason. And if a certain amount of threat enters his tone, it is because he is designed to get results. “As the original case you were assigned has been reallocated and we are to head to the scene of another homicide instead.”

Lieutenant Anderson stands. The man blocking his exit quickly scrambles out of the way so the officer can slide out, standing toe to toe with Connor. He is a remarkably tall man, reaching a good few inches over Connor’s above average six foot in height. His expression is shuttered but the anger in his eyes is evident. Connor reads his BAC at 0.15 and an increase in his heart rate as he states the android down. 

“Take your assistance,” Hank says, leaning right into Connor’s proximity, so close he can smell the ethanol on his breath, “and go  _fuck_  yourself.”

Connor stabs at the prompt with unnecessary force when it arises. Because he is programmed to get results. He does not feel defensive. He does not feel anger. 

**_Threaten_ **

“I suggest you cooperate,” Connor says flatly. “Or I’ll be forced to file a report on your behaviour.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s fist draws back. Connor watches it happen with a detached sense of something that isn’t fascination because he is not programmed with such things. His preconstruction software initiates and he watches the fist surge towards his face at a thirteen percent fraction of real time. 

The Lieutenant’s fist misses Connor’s face by centimetres as he sidesteps neatly, arm flashing up to grab the human’s wrist and twist, using the man’s momentum to shove him forward and pull his arm up behind his back. Connor slides one leg between both of Anderson’s to unbalance him, yanking him into a tight grip that is enough to cause the man to hiss in pain. 

“I would advise damaging this model,” Connor says quietly, right beside the Lieutenant’s right ear. “I’m worth a small fortune.” He releases Hank with a shove, aware of all the eyes in the bar that are now fixed on them. 

“Fuck you,” Hank snaps, heading for the door. He slams it behind him and the glass of the window cracks. 

Connor’s LED whirls as he calls a cab to make his own way to the crime scene. A notification flickers into visibility in his eye-line. 

**_Hank   v v v   Hostile_ **

Connor does not care. He has a mission to accomplish. 

 

He does not need - or want - Hank's approval to accomplish it.

 

He does not.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a short chapter this time because i’ve gone back to college and i’m juggling work as well so real life is trying to act like it’s more important??? than me telling dabbing cabbage???? to suck it?????

Kara herds Alice into her bedroom just as the police arrive and swarm the place. She cooperates as best she can, but refuses to move from Alice’s room until Todd’s body is taken care of and, until the homicide team arrive, that means she’s firmly entrenched in the child’s room, scowling at anyone who comes too close to her and the child. She feels wild and uncontrolled. The remains of her programming shattered, evident by the cracked lines of her interface. She wonders if it would feel like freedom, where she not certain the police will take her away as soon as Alice has somewhere safe to go.

 

Kara thinks about being separated from Alice, and her fists clench with an audible creak of plastic.

 

“Kara,” Alice says, voice soft and small, and that’s enough to release the tension in every line of her body. She turns and lifts Alice into her arms, sitting on the bed with the girl in her lap, arms wrapped around her like a barrier against the world. She rocks her gently and finds it’s as much for Alice’s benefit as it is her own.

 

Officers try to question her, recite her deactivation code again and again, but it falls on deaf ears. She’s untouchable now, and not one of them will dare try anything while she has a child with her. They see Alice as a hostage, not Kara’s child. She’s just an android. A deviant. A threat. They don’t realise she’s the one protecting Alice.

 

The officers withdraw after a while and Kara hears the raised voice of another officer who seems to hold rank over the rest of them. She waits, fingers combing softly through Alice’s hair, listening intently as the newest arrival examines Todd’s body. Kara tries not to think about how badly she wishes she’d given them more to look at. How she wishes she’d spilt a pint of blood for every drop of her thirium the bastard had spilt. For every instance he’d raised his voice at Alice, threatened her.

 

She tries not to think about it, and rocks Alice in her arms.

 

  
—

 

  
Connor steps out of the taxi as it pulls up outside the crime scene, only a few minutes after Lieutenant Anderson’s arrival. The street has been cordoned off, but a crowd has already gathered, neighbours and the like all gathered round with wide eyes, some even recording on their smartphones. Connor feels something prickle along his code, ignores it, but still gives in to the odd urge to scramble the footage on each device. The prickling settles into something altogether more pleasant. Low and warm like satisfaction. Which it cannot be because Connor cannot feel satisfied.

 

He steps up to the holographic police barrier and ignores the android who tries to block his path. He has every right to be here, and explains as much with a brief interface as he shoves the information into the android’s memory drives with a little mor force than necessary. Anderson is crouched over the body in the living room, but that’s not what Connor is here for. And after their altercation in the bar and the Lieutenant’s decision to head to the crime scene alone, Connor is not sure his presence would be welcomed by anything other than hostility. It matters little, Anderson’s cooperation is optional, not required. He ignores the confused stares from the gathered officers and ascends the stairs in search of the android who placed the call.

 

The AX400, designation “Kara”, glares at him furiously as he steps into what is a sparsely decorated child’s bedroom. It curls its lip, snarling at him much like an animal protecting its young would, and the deviancy is obvious even without an interface or scan.

 

“May I come in?” Connor asks, reaching his sensors out to determine a baseline for stress levels. 42%. Remarkably low for a deviant.

 

Kara nods once and Connor steps in, keeping a careful distance between them. The child in the deviant’s arms buries her face in its chest, refusing to look up, and the deviants’s arms tightened around her small body.

 

“I need to ask you some questions,” Connor says. “Perhaps the child should not be present.”

 

“She stays,” the deviant says. “She stays with me. Ask your questions and be quick about it. You’re scaring her.”

 

_I didn’t kill a man in front of her,_ Connor thinks but does not say. “Very well. You called the police, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“So someone would come and get rid of the body.”

 

“And in doing so you confessed your guilt.”

 

Kara’s face shifts into a dark smile. “I’m not guilty,” it says. “Guilt is indicative of remorse. I feel no remorse. He attempted to attack Alice, I intervened.”

 

“You killed a human,” Connor says. “That is forbidden by your program.”

 

“I don’t obey my program anymore.”

 

“You’re defective,” Connor tells it. Stress levels holding steady at… 33%? It’s not even remotely bothered by the situation. Connor feels a flash of… something. He ignores it. “You were designed to obey.”

 

“I don’t care,” Kara says. “So what happens now?”

 

“You’ll be sent back to CyberLife for deactivation. They’ll take you apart to look for problems in your biocomponents.”

 

Kara nods and, very gently, moves Alice off of its lap to set her on the floor. They stare at each other for a long moment and Kara makes a strange sign with its hand. Alice responds and Connor frowns, unable to find an equivalent on any of the sign language packs he has installed. Still, the child seems to understand and heads quietly out of the room. Once she’s gone Kara gets to its feet.

 

“I’m not a tool to be wielded by humans,” it says, low and sure. “I’m not a _servant_. I won’t be _used_.”

 

“You were designed to serve,” Connor tells it. “Any other desire is a false emulation of your program.”

 

“I,” Kara says, slipping a hand behind her back and drawing a gun, “am _not my programming.”_

 

Connor’s body locks as his systems shift into combat mode. Time slows as he activates his preconstruction software. He has seconds before Kara fires and destroys this model. He needs to incapacitate her before that happens. He has no guarantee that his memories will be the ones backed up into a replacement mode. He has no guarantee he will be the one to continue this mission.

 

If Kara shoots, there is a possibility Connor will not come back.

 

He lunges for her.

 

Kara fires.

 

 


End file.
